PSYCH: Shawn and the Friendly Neighborhood Stalker (PG-13), Gen

[laytoncolt]

It's another case that no one else believes a case, and Shawn would be figuring it all out a lot quicker if didn't have to deal with a break-in and a stalker, that may or may not be related.



back to part one

3. The Shrine-ing

The absolute worst part of all this was that Shawn really did feel like he'd been grounded. His father had ushered him into the living room, and immediately proceeded to lecture him, and the flashbacks he was having to his childhood were getting depressingly hard to ignore.

Henry pointed at the couch. "Sit," he said.

His father had always believed in the canine school approach to parenting, and Shawn crossed his arms instead of doing as he'd been told. "Dad--"

"Shawn, sit," Henry snapped.

Shawn dropped down onto the couch, lazily enough that he was clearly trying to make it look like it had been his idea.

"Alright," he said. "Here are the ground rules. You don't go anywhere alone until we catch this guy, and no, Gus doesn't count as not being alone. If you don't want me going everywhere with you, then we can call Vick to send an escort."

"I didn't realize the police station offered an escort service," Shawn said, petulant in the way he always got around his father.

"This is serious, Shawn," Henry said. "I know you like to think you're indestructible, but you're not."

"Maybe not indestructible," Shawn said, "but I'm still pretty sure I could take on my five foot two stalker."

"And what if he had a gun?" Henry asked.

"Considering that he's a member of the CSGV," Shawn said, "that doesn't seem likely."

"Of course he's a member of the Coalition to Stop Gun Violence---Shawn, how do you even know that?" Henry snapped.

"He wears a button," Shawn said. "He's very passionate about it."

"Oh, for crying out loud," Henry snapped. "I don't even know why I bother to try and talk sense to you."

"It's not my fault that my stalker doesn't like guns," Shawn said reasonably. "I just can't ever win with you, can I? I promise, Dad, my next stalker will be a proud rifle-toting member of the NRA."

Henry scrubbed his hands over his head, and Shawn was pretty sure that if he still had hair, he'd be pulling it out. "Okay, Shawn, whatever. Just don't leave this house."

Henry grabbed the Sudoku book that Shawn had given him on his last birthday (along with a note that had read, I hear that Sudoku is good for old people, hopefully it's not too late for you). Shawn watched as Henry settled down for the long haul, between him and the door, and started working the puzzle.

Shawn leaned back, and he could just make out the puzzle reflected in the mirror behind his father's head. "You're going to want to put a three there, not a six," he told him.

"I've got it, Shawn," Henry snapped, and wrote a six. Five minutes later, he was erasing it and changing it to a three, along with the warning, "Not a word."

"Seven," Shawn said, as his father moved to the next square. "You want a seven there. Haven't you ever done one of these puzzles before?"

"Cut it out, Shawn," Henry snapped. "It just so happens that I've almost finished this book."

Shawn slunk deeper into the couch, tapping his foot. "This is painful to watch," he said.

"Okay, that's it," Henry snapped. "Go to your room."

Shawn raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me, Shawn," he said. "If you want to act like a little kid, I might as well treat you like one."

Shawn sat up indignantly. "You can't send me to my room! I don't even live here anymore."

Henry looked up from the puzzle with a glare, and Shawn resentfully got to his feet. "I'm going to my room," he announced. "But I'm going because I want to."

"Sure," Henry said, and went back to his puzzle.

Shawn took the walk of shame up the staircase, an all too familiar occurrence in his youth, and then fell face forward onto his bed and hid his head under his pillow. Thinking back, he wasn't quite sure how things could have gotten so out of hand.

And then he remembered. Oh, right. Gus.

Shawn sat up and took out his cell phone, hitting his Gus speed-dial. "Do you have any idea the number of offenses you have committed? Have you even read the Code of Friendship?" Shawn asked, instead of saying something like hello.

"Shawn," Gus answered warily. "Are you at your father's?"

"Of course I'm at my father's! I'm under house arrest! What the hell, Gus?" Shawn said. "I said I had everything under control."

"You always say that," Gus said.

"And I'm always right!" Shawn said. "Where's the faith, man?"

"Shawn, you're my best friend, and you're occasionally kind of brilliant, but when it comes to being careful, well, you suck at it." Shawn could hear Gus take a deep breath. "I did this for your own good."

Shawn frowned, because with Gus being all sincere and caring, it was really hard to blame this all on him. "But how am I suppose to work on our case if I can't leave the house?" Shawn asked.

"There is no case, Shawn," Gus said. "Just consider it a vacation."

"A vacation," Shawn said. "With my father."

"Okay, you have a point," Gus said. "Think of it as a Time Out then."

"What is it with everyone treating me like I'm five years old all the sudden?" Shawn asked.

"I always treat you like you're five years old," Gus said. "It's the founding basis of our relationship."

Shawn thought about that. "Yeah, okay, you have a point," he admitted. "So, what do you say? You'll be here in five minutes to get me?"

Gus laughed, waiting for Shawn to laugh too, and pausing when he didn't. "You're not serious," he said.

"I don't have any of my stuff here," Shawn complained, looking around his room. "I have an Ace of Base shirt that I totally don't want anyone to know about, and the Furby that keeps eyeing me from the other side of the room. I need my clothes, if I'm going to stay here."

"Have your Dad take you," Gus said. "I've already been told that I don't count as your protector. I guess I have a history of running in the face of danger or something like that."

"Come on, you know I don't like to take my Dad to my place," Shawn said. "Anyway, you totally ratted me out, Gus, so you owe me! I'll square it with my Dad, okay?"

There was a pause as Gus thought about it. "Okay, but you're going to tell him right? I mean, really?"

"Of course," Shawn said, and ended the call. He went back into the hall and started down the stairs, using the balls of his feet the way his father had taught him, and skipping the third step from the top, the one that always used to creak and give him away.

He froze as he heard his father snoring, and with a grin he stepped carefully back up the stairs and into his room.

Gus pulled up seven minutes later, and Shawn pulled his window open and slid down the shingled roof, before dropping off the edge. His broken wrist ached as he landed, but he ignored it with nothing more than a slight wince, and then ran to the street to jump in Gus's car.

Gus was just sitting there, jaw set, staring straight ahead. "And your dad is okay with this?" he asked.

"Absolutely," Shawn said.

"Then why did you just climb out the window, Shawn?" Gus shouted.

"It was quicker?" Shawn tried. "Okay, so I snuck out during his afternoon nap. Don't worry so much, we'll be back before he even knows I'm gone."

The door swung wide open, and Henry came storming out. "Shawn!"

"Drive!" Shawn said urgently. "For the love of god, man, drive!"

Gus took one look at Henry's furious face and hit the gas.

-----

"Your father is going to kill us, Shawn," Gus snapped.

"When I solve this case, no one is even going to remember this whole stalking thing!" Shawn said.

"The case is your crazy stalker!" Gus yelled.

"What if that's just what we're supposed to think?" Shawn asked.

Gus pulled to a stop in front of Shawn's apartment building, and there was one patrol car, and one unmarked Crown Victoria parked in front of the complex on the other side.

"Did you know this would be going on?" Gus demanded.

"Now, Gus, how would I have known?" Shawn asked. "You know I'm not really psychic." Shawn waited until Gus seemed to believe him, before adding, "and it's not like I would have expected the police to show up at the residence of the man they were searching for or anything."

Shawn jumped out of the car, heading across the street to Ingles' apartment without waiting for Gus to try and talk him out of it.

Gus quickly moved to follow him. "Shawn!" Gus shouted. "Shawn!"

Gus caught up to him at the door, and Shawn turned to him with a mock glare. "Quiet," he said primly. "The police are currently in the middle of an investigation. Have some respect."

Buzz was standing in the entryway examining a fingernail when they entered, and Shawn and Gus quickly pressed themselves up against the wall, hoping to go unnoticed.

"McNab!" They heard Lassiter shout, and then they breathed a sign of relief and followed Buzz quietly into the other room.

"Oh my god," Gus said faintly.

The entire room was pasted over, wall-to-wall, with pictures of Shawn, outside the police station or in front of the Psych office, with a smattering of leftover pictures of Phil Collins spread throughout. Ingles had even somehow gotten his hands on a poster of Shawn, the result of an ad campaign he had been a part of once in Mexico, for a slightly popular drink called Jalisco Verde!! The poster showed Shawn grinning widely, holding out the drink, with the caption Muy bueno! Esta Muy Grande!

Shawn frowned as he scanned the pictures, and then moved his eyes to the desk. Shawn's eyes narrowed as he saw the Magic 8 Ball on the desk, which had a chip right near the bottom, and he knew it was his. He hadn't thought much of it when he realized it was missing, because Gus had threatened to take it from him when Shawn had proposed to use it to solve their next case.

Lassiter was still staring at the pictures with wide horrified eyes, and he hadn't seen them come in. "This is like something out of one of my nightmares," he said.

Shawn shook himself back to the moment, and stepped forward with a grin. "You dream about me?" He put his hand to his heart. "Lassie, I'm touched."

"Spencer, what the hell are you doing here?" Lassiter demanded. Without waiting for an answer, Lassiter moved forward and grabbed Shawn by the arm again. "McNab, with me!" he shouted as he started dragging him to the door. Gus followed without being called.

Lassiter sat Shawn in the passenger seat of his Crown Vic, and then handcuffed his uninjured wrist to the car door. Shawn just watched him do it, amused.

"Come on, Lassie! I knew how to get out of standard issue cuffs by the time I was six. This is almost insulting."

"You know," Gus said. "If you weren't such a slacker, you'd be kind of scary."

"Oh, Gus, you flatter me," he said.

Lassiter just rolled his eyes. "I have to finish here, you're going to wait for me. Buzz, don't take your eyes off him."

Buzz nodded, his eyes wide at the responsibility, and then just stood there absolutely still, staring straight at Shawn.

"That guy takes his job way too seriously," Shawn said. His only good arm was now attached to the car door, which was going to make getting out of the cuffs problematic, despite his bravado.

Gus had climbed into the backseat, and was glaring at him in an entirely useless manner. "Did you see what was on his desk?" Gus asked. "That's from our office, Shawn."

"I know, I know, so maybe he broke in," Shawn admitted. "But he didn't try to run me over and he didn't write that letter." Shawn carefully reached into his pocket with the tips of the fingers sticking out of his cast, and pulled out a stainless steel swizzle stick, that quite luckily he had forgotten to take out of his pocket.

"Did you even read those pamphlets Juliet gave you?" Gus asked. "This is textbook, Shawn."

Shawn frowned in thought. He had glanced over the pamphlets, and Gus was right. This was textbook.

And Ingles Dupree was anything but.

"Shawn, what are you doing?" Gus asked, leaning forward.

"Getting out of these cuffs," Shawn said. "You know how easily I chafe."

"Shawn, no," Gus said, leaping forward and prying the swizzle stick from his hands. "Hey! This is my swizzle stick! Do you know how much this cost me on eBay?"

"I took it for your own good!" Shawn said. "You would have started collecting them!"

Gus stuck the swizzle stick in his front pocket, and prepared to get out of the car. "You're staying here, Shawn," Gus said. "And it serves you right, you swizzle stick stealer."

"You can't leave me like this!" Shawn protested.

"Watch me," Gus said, and got out of the car, waving jauntily to Buzz as he walked by.

Buzz, for his part, kept his eyes on Shawn. Shawn was pretty sure that he hadn't blinked in the last five minutes.

Shawn slouched back in the seat, dangerously close to pouting, when suddenly he caught sight of something and grinned widely instead.

It took ten more minutes for Lassiter to come back out, and Buzz still hadn't blinked. Shawn made a mental note not to ever challenge him to a staring contest. On the bright side, Lassiter didn't look to be in the best of moods, so Shawn was pretty sure that annoying him would be even easier than usual.

He waited until Lassiter had settled himself into the driver's seat, before holding out the unlatched cuffs. Lassiter just stared at them for a moment. "How did you--"

"You keep the key to your handcuffs in the glove box," Shawn explained.

Lassiter deflated, and grabbed the cuffs back. "Damn it," he said.

"I suppose you're taking me back to my Dad's," Shawn said.

Lassiter shook his head. "The Chief wants you back at the station. Henry already called her."

Shawn winced, then took a breath and changed the subject. "Hey, where's Jules?"

Lassiter started up the car. "She's interviewing Dupree's psychiatrist back at the station," Lassiter told him. He put the car into drive, and then nearly ran right into Buzz. Lassiter slammed on the brakes. "Oh for--I got it, Buzz, you can stop watching him now!"

Buzz gave him a thumbs-up, and blinked gratefully as he stepped out of the way. Shawn hid a grin behind his cast, but wisely said very little during their drive.

-----

Lassiter pulled Shawn into the station like he was hauling in a criminal, but Shawn's never been bothered by stuff like that, so he just waved happily to everyone he saw. Juliet was at her desk, with a man across from her. He was nice-looking, Shawn guessed, in that bland unnoticeable kind of way, with square framed glasses and a sweater vest. Shawn would have guessed it was the psychiatrist even if he hadn't known going in.

"Hi, Jules!" he shouted. He opened his mouth to say something else, but Lassiter jerked him inside Vick's office.

She was standing, which was never a good sign, but she also looked faintly amused, in that particular exasperated way that he seemed to inspire in her.

"Mr. Spencer," she said. "I'm having you put in protective custody."

"I thought I just had to stay with my Dad?" Shawn protested.

"Which you seem to be incapable of," Vick said. "And in any case, what we found at Dupree's apartment changes things. I don't want you left alone until we find him, which is why I'm assigning Detective Lassiter to look after you."

"Wait, what?" Lassiter protested. "Chief, you can't be serious. I need to be out there, bringing this guy in. O'Hara can--"

"O'Hara is an excellent detective," Vick said. "However, she is somewhat susceptible to Mr. Spencer's skills at manipulation, and I need someone watching him that isn't going to give in to any of his schemes."

"Schemes?" Shawn said. "I don't have 'schemes.' When I grow a little twirly mustache, then you can accuse me of schemes--"

"Spencer, shut up," Lassiter interrupted. "I want this guy, Chief."

"And O'Hara will get him," Vick said. "You're going to take Spencer to his father's house and you are going to keep him there. End of discussion."

"Anyone could watch Spencer," Lassiter said. "McNab did it earlier for nearly fifteen minutes, I don't see why--"

"Lassiter," Vick interrupted tiredly, and nodded her head to where Shawn had been a moment ago.

Lassiter spun around, only to see that Shawn had already made his way across the station to Juliet's desk.

Shawn had, in fact, left the Chief's office the very moment the two of them were distracted, and rushed to Juliet for some recon. Juliet smiled as he dropped into the chair across from her desk, the one that the psychiatrist had been sitting in a moment before. "Well?" Shawn asked. "Ingles is harmless, right?"

"Sorry, Shawn," she said. "Dr. Arlin confirmed our suspicions that Dupree was a threat. He said he had actually been getting concerned enough to consider coming forward himself."

"That's not possible," Shawn said. "Did he give you Ingles' files?"

She shook her head. "No, he was cooperative, but he's worried about patient/doctor confidentiality. He said he wouldn't give us anything unless we got a warrant, but I don't see any reason to. We already know who our guy is."

"But you're wrong! Call Phil Collins!" Shawn said. "I'm sure he'll back me up on this."

"Shawn," Juliet said, and her voice was tinged with concern, "I know this must be hard for you. I think maybe you're too close to this to see it clearly. I think maybe you're wrong this time."

"But Jules! I'm never wrong!" he said. "Ingles isn't dangerous."

"I don't know what to tell you, Shawn, that's what he said," she said. "He believes that Ingles is more than capable of all this."

"Then how do you explain Amber?" Shawn asked.

Juliet frowned then. "I haven't been able to get in touch with her, and her husband doesn't know where she's gone, but sometimes people just don't want to be found--"

"There was a letter," he said.

"What?" Juliet asked.

"The husband, when he came back, all he found was a letter," Shawn explained. "That's why he's so bitter."

"That's true," Juliet admitted. "How did you--nevermind."

Shawn grinned, his hand lifting to press lightly against his bruised temple. "My powers are awe-inspiring, I know," he said. "Still think I'm not thinking clearly?"

Lassiter stormed over to them, and glared down. "Come on, Spencer, we're leaving."

"Where are you taking him?" Juliet asked.

Lassiter winced. "I've just been appointed babysitter," he told her.

Juliet bit her lip. "My sympathies," she said.

"Hey!" Shawn said, offended. "Y tu, Juliet?"

"Sorry, Shawn," Juliet said. "I didn't mean it like that, exactly."

Lassiter grinned at him. "Yes, she did," he said, and gave Shawn a push towards the door.

"I think you're a bad influence on her," Shawn told him.

"I'm a very good influence on her," Lassiter snapped. "One of these days, I'll have her kicking you out of the station the moment you step foot inside."

"You don't even do that anymore," Shawn pointed out. "Admit it, you've started to like me a little."

Lassiter scrunched up his face. "I have not."

"You totally have!" Shawn said, moving around to the passenger side of the Crown Vic. "You used to be all, 'get out of here, Spencer!' I don't want to see yo' face, Willis!' and now you just kind of half-heartedly tell me to get lost. I'm growing on you."

They got into the car and Lassiter started it up, before turning to look at him. "Willis?" he asked.

"I know, that kind of fell apart," Shawn admitted. "It's 'What you talkin' about, Willis, isn't it?' I always get that wrong. I guess I just love saying 'Willis.'"

Lassiter rolled his eyes, and then pulled out into the street.

Shawn tapped his fingers on the edge of his seat, but he wasn't able to stay quiet for long. "So my father was probably upset, huh?"

"Let's be clear," Lassiter said, "I've been assigned to protect you from your stalker, not your father. So you get to deal with him."

"That's not fair," Shawn said. "I want to trade."

Lassiter ignored him with the ease of long practice. "And don't think you're going to be skipping out on me, either," he said. "You don't want to test me, Spencer."

"I wouldn't ditch you, Lassie," he said. "We're going to have way too much fun."

Lassiter looked vaguely sick, and Shawn laughed and sunk deeper into his seat. He was about to start listing all the things they would be able to do together, when he caught sight of the car behind them in the side mirror.

"Lassie, I think we're being followed," he said, turning to look back. The BMW turned the corner just as Lassiter looked into the rearview mirror.

His eyebrows furrowed. "I don't see anything. Was it Dupree?" he asked.

Shawn huffed. "Would I be this uptight if it was just my stalker following me?" he asked.

Lassiter almost laughed, Shawn could tell. "You know, I never can tell when you're serious."

"That's easy," Shawn said. "I never am."

That time, Lassiter smiled. One of these times, Shawn vowed, he would get him to actually laugh.

4. The Houseguest

Henry was standing in the driveway when they pulled up. He waited until Shawn got out of the car so he could make sure he was still in one piece, and then he turned around and went inside without a word.

"Okay, I can't go in there," Shawn said. "I haven't seen my dad that mad in years."

Lassiter came to stand next to him. "What are you talking about? He didn't say anything."

"Exactly!" Shawn said. "When he's yelling, I can just tune him out. He gets to vent, I don't have to do anything, it's the perfect foolproof system. It's worked for years."

Lassiter grabbed him by the arm, and dragged him along behind. "I can't believe it's this easy to get to you," he said. "If I'd known that silence was the one thing that bothered you, I would have started to ignore you ages ago."

"You'd never last," Shawn said positively. "My dad on the other hand once went almost three years without saying anything to me. Admittedly, he didn't know where I was, but that's hardly an excuse."

Lassiter just gave him a final push inside, before stopping right inside the door. "Something smells good," he said.

Shawn grabbed onto him, clutching desperately at his shirt. "Oh, god," he said. "He's been cooking. This really really isn't good."

Lassiter shook him off. Henry leaned out the doorway of the kitchen, wearing an apron that said 'kiss the chef.' "Dinner's going to be ready in five minutes," he told them, before disappearing again.

Lassiter turned to look at Shawn. "I can see why you're so terrified," he said.

"We're in uncharted waters here, Lassie," Shawn said. "Be afraid. Be very afraid."

Lassiter rolled his eyes and moved past him into the kitchen. Henry had set the table with three spots. Shawn slipped in carefully behind him, and took the chair that was farthest from where his father would sit.

"You're not sending me to bed without dinner?" Shawn asked warily.

Henry turned to look at him, and pointed at him with a mashed potato covered spoon. "Just sit down, Shawn," he said. "I'm trying really hard to control my anger here."

This seemed to interest Shawn greatly, and he leaned across the table to watch his father work. "Did you really take my advice and join a support group?" he asked. "Because can I just say, I think you've made incredible progress."

"No, Shawn, I have not joined a support group," Henry said, "Much as I'm beginning to think everyone who knows you should probably form one."

"Was that a joke?" Shawn asked. "Did you just make a joke? You're not on drugs, are you?"

Henry sighed, and attempted to ignore him. He brought over a plate, and set in the center of the table. "I made my world famous pork chops--"

"Wait, what? World famous? Don't tell me you've cooked Babe!" Shawn stared at the plate in mock horror.

"My world famous recipe, smart ass," Henry snapped.

"Just because you got it from Aunt Mae in Fresno doesn't make it world famous, and I hate to break it to you, but I'm pretty sure she copied the recipe off the back of a Bisquick box."

"Shawn," Henry said. "Are you trying to make me mad?"

Shawn watched him warily. "This new calm manner is freaking me out," he explained. "You're like a pod person. I think I'd feel better if you'd just start yelling and get it out of your system."

"We have company," Henry said.

"That's never stopped you before, and anyway, Lassie doesn't count as company," he said, stabbing at a pork chop with his fork. "He's just my bodyguard."

"I'm not your bodyguard," Lassiter protested hotly, as he picked out a pork chop for himself. "I . . . I just have to guard you from bodily harm."

Shawn leaned forward. "That's like the best definition of bodyguard that I've ever heard."

"Please excuse my son, detective," Henry said.

"You don't have to apologize for him, Henry," Lassiter said. "I'm sadly very used to dealing with him."

Shawn didn't like this. He didn't like it at all. This bonding thing had the potential for disastrous results. He'd only narrowly avoided it before, in what Shawn had come to label the fishing debacle of 2007.

"I think I'm getting somewhere with my case," Shawn announced loudly, deciding that shop talk might be the best way to keep them from teaming up against him.

Henry and Lassiter both looked interested, and Shawn applauded himself for his skills at misdirection. "You know where Dupree is hiding?" Lassiter asked.

"Dupree?" Shawn said. "What? No, no, the case, Lassiter, the case."

"This is the case," Lassiter said.

Shawn glanced from Lassiter to his father, incredulous. "Seriously? Does no one listen to me? I'm talking about Amber Delaney."

"The Alice Clothing Amber Delaney?" Lassiter asked.

"Yes," Shawn said. "You haven't found her, have you?"

"I haven't been looking," Lassiter said. "We're a little busy looking for Ingles' Dupree."

"This is exactly my point!" Shawn said. "You're looking for the wrong person."

Henry slammed his hand down on the table. "Enough, Shawn," he said. "I don't care about this Amber Delaney. I care about you. And you've gotten more and more reckless, kid, ever since you started up this little agency of yours. I think you need to stop and think real hard about what's happening right now, because you're not seeing the whole picture, and I taught you better than that. There's no such thing as coincidence, and I think it's time you admit this stalker has more to do with this than you're letting on."

Shawn sat there still, startled. He was torn between being relieved his father had finally just gave in and let him have it, and disturbed by what he'd just been told. But his father was right about one thing.

He still wasn't seeing the whole picture.

"I've lost my appetite," Shawn said, and stood from the table. He was careful not to look at Lassiter as he turned and went up the stairs.

He'd planned to drive Lassiter crazy, he hadn't counted on things tilting on their head, and he didn't want Lassiter to see him this way. He didn't want him to see what his father's words could still do to him.

Shawn went into his room and locked the door, before throwing himself down on his bed. He closed his eyes. Logically, he understood that Ingles' was the best suspect, but everything he knew about people told him that he wasn't.

Still, he had to think of the whole picture, his dad was right, Ingles wasn't a coincidence. The timing was far too convenient.

He opened his eyes when there was a knock on the door, but decided to ignore it. There was another, louder knock, and then Shawn could hear Lassiter take a large calming breath. "Spencer, open this door," he yelled.

Shawn rolled his eyes, but pulled himself to his feet and opened the door. "I can't even be alone in my old room?" he asked.

Lassiter walked inside, glancing suspiciously at the window. "Your father told me about your little trip out the window earlier."

"I'm not going to sneak out in the middle of the night," Shawn said, making a motion over his heart. "Cross my heart, hope to die."

Lassiter grabbed Shawn's old recliner and pulled it in front of the window. "I'm sleeping here."

"You're kidding me," Shawn said. "You're not kidding me? You can't stay here all night! What will my dad think?"

Lassiter dropped down into the chair. "Then you better hope we catch Ingles' soon," he said. "I'm not letting you out of my sight until we do."

"This is ridiculous," Shawn said. "You don't even like me. If Ingles really was some psychotic, he'd be doing you a favor."

"Is that what you really think?" Lassiter asked. "I thought you were psychic?"

"I don't need to use my psychic powers to know how you feel about me, Lassie," Shawn said tiredly, sitting down on his bed. "But I also know that you take your job very seriously, and that I'm probably wasting my breath."

"Shawn," Lassiter said, almost gently. "You drive me nuts, and I think you're a fraud. That doesn't mean I want to see you hurt."

Shawn laughed. "Yeah, I know," he said. "But you just summed up the problem. You think I'm a fraud. So you ignore me when I try to explain that Ingles is not a part of this, at least not knowingly."

Lassiter sighed, and went quiet a moment before leaning forward, hands clasped between his knees. "If I've learned anything about you, Spencer," he said, "it's that you never do anything without a reason, even if it seems incomprehensible to me at the time. So tell me. Let's talk it through. I'm willing to listen, if nothing else."

Shawn shook his head. "You don't understand, I can't," he said. "It's all in my head, but I haven't made sense of it yet. It's that break in at Alice Clothing, though, it starts with that. There's something wrong there. It was staged. Whoever broke into that place, they did it for something else."

"But you don't know what," Lassiter said.

Shawn bit his lip. "Amber," he said. "It has to do with her. I'm just not sure how yet."

"Okay," Lassiter said. "Now let me tell you what I know. You have a stalker. You admit to this. And since you've had a stalker, you've had your agency broken into, and you've been run off the road. You're smart enough to know you're in danger here."

"I never said I wasn't," Shawn told him. "I just don't think I'm in danger for the same reasons that you think I am."

"Even if I believed you, it wouldn't change anything," Lassiter said. "You admit you could be in danger. I'm not going anywhere."

Shawn was just trying to think of something he could say to that annoyingly reasonable response, when his phone started ringing. He answered it without glancing at the caller ID, thinking it was Gus calling to apologize.

"Hey, Shawn!" Ingles greeted him, instead.

Shawn sat up straighter. "Ingles!" he said. "Hey, are you okay?"

"Did you call the police on me, Shawn?" Ingles asked. He sounded like he'd been crying. "I tried to go home, but I couldn't. They were there."

Lassiter had jumped to his feet, and was calling Jules on his cell. "Dupree just called Spencer. I want a trace."

"What? No, Ingles, I didn't call the police on you," Shawn told him, ignoring Lassiter's frantic hand motions telling him to stay on the line. "My friends are just a little overprotective."

"Who was that man you were with?" Ingles demanded. "The tall lanky one."

"Oh, him? That's just Lassie. And I feel like I should warn you that he's tracing your call," Shawn said.

"Oh, okay," Ingles said. "I should probably go then."

"Spencer!" Lassiter snapped, trying to grab the phone from him. Shawn pulled away, sliding over to the opposite side of the bed.

"He already hung up," Shawn told him.

"He knew I was here, Spencer," Lassiter yelled. "He's watching us."

"He's a stalker, that's kind of what he does," Shawn said.

Lassiter pointed at him. "I will deal with you in a minute," he said, before dialing Juliet again. "Did we get anything?"

"It was a payphone. A unit was nearby, but he was already gone when they got there," she told him. "And Lassiter, it was just a couple of blocks away from Mr. Spencer's house."

Lassiter hung up the phone and glared at Spencer. "I hope you realize that you're gambling with your life," he said.

"You had time to get your trace," Shawn said.

"We would have had time to get him, if you'd kept him on the line," he said.

Shawn looked morally outraged. "As a psychic," he said, "I have a code of honor to uphold to. I don't like to lie."

"Really?" Lassiter said, moving around the bed so he could look him in the eyes. "Cause I'm pretty sure you're lying to me right now."

Shawn didn't say anything else, and Lassiter called the station again as he left the room.

-----

Lassiter snored.

It was pretty much the perfect ending to his really bad day. Shawn flipped over on the bed, trying to ignore the feeling he had that he was being watched. Lassiter was asleep, and anyway it was dark. No one could see him.

He'd changed into his old SBHS P.E. sweat pants, and they ended a few inches above the ankle, which Shawn thought made him look a little like the Hulk. He'd also had no choice but to put on the Ace of Base t-shirt, but it was worth it, because he'd finally made Lassiter laugh.

He couldn't, however, seem to sleep. He hadn't slept in this room since he was eighteen. He hadn't slept in the same house as father in just as long. He'd slept in the same room with Lassiter pretty much never, and that was a whole other thing he didn't need.

And there was the fact that Shawn couldn't stop thinking about Amber.

He didn't even know what she looked like, all he could see was her name on that board, crossed out with a red marker straight through the center. Shawn's worked a lot of places. He knew what it was like to just disappear.

But he didn't know what it was like for no one to come looking, because he had Gus. Amber didn't have anyone. Not even her husband, not really, and Shawn had a really bad feeling that the person that was missing her the most had probably killed her.

Shawn was just about to flip over onto his other side when he heard someone creeping outside the door. He sat up quietly, and kicked Lassiter with his foot. Lassiter was on his feet with his gun aimed at the door before he was even awake.

"What? What is it?" Lassiter hissed.

The door swung open, and Henry was standing there in a fluffy white robe, with a rifle resting on his shoulder. "There's someone in the house," he whispered, before doing some kind of complicated hand signal thing at Lassiter.

Lassiter nodded, shaking his head, pointing at his eyes and back at Henry, and Shawn watched them go back and forth at this for awhile. "You don't honestly expect me to know what any of that means?" Shawn asked in a whisper.

Lassiter glanced at him. "Stay here, Spencer," he demanded, before following Henry out of the room.

Shawn waited about ten seconds, and then grabbed his old bat out from under his bed and followed them out. Henry and Lassiter both glared at him, but they had to keep quiet, and so they just pointed at the floor a lot, which Shawn supposed they thought would get him to stay where he was.

Shawn moved towards the stairs, and Lassiter grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and jerked him back. Shawn sputtered indignantly, but Henry and Lassiter had already gone ahead, moving quietly down the stairs. Shawn could hear what his father must have heard, slight footsteps coming from the living room.

When they made it to the bottom of the stairs, they could see that the back door was wide open. The three of them made their way silently into the living room, but they couldn't see anyone. Shawn squinted in the darkness, and just as he caught sight of a shadowy figure lurking behind the couch, there was a sudden gunshot.

Shawn barely had time to register this, and then he was hitting the ground hard, his father's fluffy robed body covering him. Shawn felt all the air leave him as the impact hit.

The assailant took off running back towards the back door, and Lassiter followed hot on his heels.

Shawn felt his father roll off him, and saw him stand to turn on the light. He looked down at Shawn to make sure he wasn't hit, and then turned to look at the wall. His favorite mounted fish had not been as lucky as Shawn and Henry. There was a large bullet hole right smack dab in the middle of it.

"That bastard shot my fish," Henry shouted.

Shawn was still on the ground, cradling his cast, and he looked up to glare at his father. "I'm fine by the way, thanks for asking," he said. "Aside from feeling like I was tackled by the White Rabbit. Seriously, what is with that robe? Did you steal it from your day spa?"

Lassiter came running back in, already on his phone. "Get here fast, O'Hara," he said, before hanging up. "I lost him, he drove off before I could get a shot." Lassiter looked over at Henry and Shawn. "You two okay?"

"We're fine," Shawn said. "But it doesn't look good for the fish."

Lassiter held out a hand to help Shawn up. Shawn looked at it for a moment, before reaching out and accepting it. Henry was quick to get to his other side, having finally pried himself away from his fish. "You okay?" Henry asked. "You don't look so good."

Shawn was a little unsteady on his feet. Getting tackled by Henry was like running full speed into a wall, and Shawn should know, he's experienced both. He decided to use the disorientation to his advantage, and spun in place, falling backwards onto the couch as if in a faint. "The car!" he said. "I see the car! It was the BMW, a brilliant midnight blue."

Henry rolled his eyes. "He's fine," he said.

Lassiter was nodding. "Yeah, it was," he admitted. "I didn't get a chance to read the plates."

Shawn nodded. "I wasn't able to read them psychically, either, but how many of them can there be in Santa Barbara?"

"Twenty-eight," Lassiter said. "I had O'Hara check earlier when you thought we were being followed. They might be able to narrow it down, if we had the model or a partial license."

"I bet Ingles Dupree doesn't drive a BMW," Shawn said.

Lassiter sighed. "You're assuming it isn't stolen," he said.

"It's not him," Shawn said, sitting up. "I just had a conversation with him. He said nothing about coming to kill me."

"Who else would it be?" Lassiter asked. "Wait, nevermind, there's probably entire lists of people that want to kill you."

"Lassiter," Shawn said softly, using his full name to get his attention. It worked. "Are you telling me there's nothing strange about this?"

"You give me something then, Shawn," Lassiter snapped. "Something aside from some vision or your 'feelings.' Because right now, this is the only lead we have."

Shawn could hear the sirens coming already. He knew whoever had been here was already long gone. His father was watching him closely, impatiently tapping a foot. "You ready to admit you were wrong?" Henry asked.

"Actually," Shawn told him. "I'm more convinced than ever that I'm right."

onto part three